Lord, I’m walking Your way.
Let me in for my feet are sore.
My clothes are ragged.
Look in my eyes, Lord,
and my sins will play out on them
as on a screen.
Read them all.
Forgive what you can
and send me on my path.
I will walk on till you bid me rest.
I hate him for thinking that me and Mom and Harry—that any of these kids who basically worship the ground he walks on—would love him less.
I couldn’t get him out—we got inside, we were taking pictures, one of them saw us and we couldn’t get away—they shot him. He fell down and I couldn’t get him out, I tried to carry him, but they saw us and they opened fire—I didn’t want to leave, I had to…